


the pitch

by whythinktoomuch



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Lena and Andrea were kinda doing well until Andrea ups and dies :/, Lena and Kara aren't doing well, Post-Reveal and angsty for it, eventual sc make up and lots of reference to past rojascorp (literally 'cause hashtag ghosts!!!), heads up: this is kinda spoopy n' not so pretty y'all, this ain't your grandma's ghost story hehe c;
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27269119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whythinktoomuch/pseuds/whythinktoomuch
Summary: The ringing didn’t go away.It remained long after the doctors said it would, long after everything else went away: the cuts, the bruises, the media attention even.Lena tried to be patient. There were much worse things in life to endure, after all, like death or being the cause of death of someone very near and dear who most certainly didn’t deserve it.a.k.a. that fic where Kara is Supergirl and Andrea is a ghost, and Lena has to learn to cope.
Relationships: Kara Danvers & Lena Luthor, Lena Luthor & Andrea Rojas
Comments: 34
Kudos: 171





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (Early) Halloween, y'all~

Lena had been the target. She was almost sure of it, and the situation was naturally all the worse for that very reason. Because as she was lying in that damn hospital bed—vision blurry, ears ringing, repeatedly instructed to stop moving because she _definitely_ had a concussion—all Lena could think about was Andrea.

One of her dearest friends and confidante. Sometimes more; other times, not as much, but consistently an important, very much present part of her life. The same Andrea whose laughter she had heard just moments before the bomb went off, and thusly, the very same Andrea whose funeral she would have to make arrangements for by the week’s end.

Lena took care of everything the same way she approached most things these days: matter-of-fact and precisely appropriate. She covered all the expenses—as unnecessary as it was—then delegated the minutia of it all to Jess and her most trusted team of lawyers.

She was asked to speak at the funeral, but declined, and eventually left during the reception with dry eyes and relatively unscathed from the latest attempt on her life.

Later, Andrea’s grief-stricken father would call Lena in barely suppressed tears, to express his gratitude for the level-headed generosity with which she had taken on the responsibility. Not that there was any need to thank her for doing what she did best. Honestly, it was the very least she could, considering the circumstances.

//

The ringing didn’t go away.

It remained long after the doctors said it would, long after everything else went away: the cuts, the bruises, the media attention even.

Lena tried to be patient. There were much worse things in life to endure, after all, like death or being the cause of death of someone very near and dear who most certainly didn’t deserve it.

But the high-pitched whine in her ears never left, never dwindled even for a second. The ringing was relentless. It was constant and utterly unbearable. 

“There’s no cure for tinnitus,” her primary care doctor said, when Lena finally approached her after weeks of torment.

“I know that,” Lena said, barely stifling an indignant scoff, because she had, of course, already done her fair share of research beforehand. “But there must be _something_ you can do? Something to help manage the discomfort?”

Dr. Patel clicked at her pen and frowned. “Well, there are definitely some contributing factors that could make it _worse,”_ she finally acquiesced with a sigh. “So, minimizing things like stress and alcohol could in turn minimize your symptoms.”

Lena didn’t even bother to scoff this time. “Anything else?”

“I can write you a prescription for anxiety, which has been shown to help,” Dr. Patel said, scribbling something onto her clipboard. “There are also some pamphlets and a support group, if you’re interested.”

“I’ll take the prescription.”

Dr. Patel handed over a slip of paper, along with some relevant leaflets— _Tinnitus: Questions & Answers!—_which Lena promptly stuffed into the nearest trash receptacle on her way out, in full view of the good doctor.

//

Lena never really believed that the pills would help, yet somehow found it in her to be disappointed when they didn’t. She continued to take them though, just in case. Just at times when she was most aware of the ringing, which inevitably coincided with times when she most needed the silence. But even the placebo effect remained just as elusive as any modicum of relief.

So, Lena did research, then some more research. She tried every internet-sponsored remedy under the sun, within well-grounded reason. Meditation. Exercise. CBD oil. Marijuana once. Even a very short-lived bout of reducing her nightly alcohol intake.

White noise seemed like the most obvious solution, and by the end of her research, Lena found it to be the only solution. The only thing to provide some relief, to soften the persistent sound in her ears. And now, Lena went about her day and carried on to the palliative soundtrack of thunderstorms and rain, mostly through bluetooth earphones.

And yet, against all calculated and demonstrated odds, Lena still found herself hoping that one day soon, she would turn off the white noise machine and meet a wall of absolute, sudden silence.

But the ringing never left.

It dwindled not even for a second.

//

Lena was well into her second helping of whiskey—her ban on alcohol already thoroughly dashed—as she pored over the latest expense reports, numbers starting to swim before her weary eyes. The ringing in her ears was comfortably at bay, muted by the rain track, until it wasn’t.

With a wince, Lena scrambled for her remote, thumb slamming down on the volume up button. But no matter how long or how many times she hit that button, the white noise machine refused to respond to the command. Eventually, Lena was forced to leave her seat—internally cursing the existence of all non-Luthor tech—to adjust the volume dial manually. Only to start cursing outwardly when the machine _still_ continued to idle at the same, little too low volume.

Meanwhile, the shrill whine in her ears got worse, louder and louder, as if to compensate for the now barely audible white noise. And that, for Lena, was the final straw.

Stomping back over to her desk, Lena proceeded to sweep everything off the surface in search of her phone. She had to call Dr. Patel; she couldn’t live like this. When her efforts proved fruitless, Lena turned to her purse, which was suddenly filled to the brim with every useless thing she could ever think of. She was still rummaging furiously when the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Lena spared a second, rubbing at the back of her neck, willing herself to calm down. These things happened—not just to her, but to millions of people. Surely, there must be better answers out there already; it was just a matter of finding them.

But Lena’s body continued to react. Goosebumps littering her arms and legs. Fingers starting to tremble. The ever persistent ringing now burrowing into her left temple.

With gritted teeth and half a mind to just dump everything out of her purse, Lena was diligently redoubling her efforts when she felt it. A light brush of a hand running down the back of her neck.

“Miss Luthor.”

Lena jerked upright in her chair, nearly upending the tumbler cradled in her hands, eyes snapping open and bleary. She was awake. She was aware. The ringing was present but pleasantly dulled by the steady thunderstorm playing in the background.

She slapped a hand to the nape of her neck, just to check, but there was nothing there.

“What?” Lena said, voice muddled with unearned sleep.

Jess was watching her curiously from the doorway. “Are you okay? You were talking in your sleep.”

“Lots of people talk in their sleep,” Lena said. She looked down, at the spread of the latest expense reports, the very top sheet smudged with drool and lipstick. She looked around, and the only other person in the room was Jess, still hovering by the door. Much too far away to have touched her.

“I mean, true,” Jess started, but she must have thought better of it because she ended up shaking her head. “I’m leaving for the day, unless you needed something else?”

Lena glanced around the room one last time. There was no one else, nor a thing out of place. “No.”

“You should probably head home too, Miss Luthor,” Jess said. “It’s _really_ late.”

“Yes. Maybe,” Lena said, even though they both knew that she would do no such thing. “Good night, Jess.”

“Night, Miss Luthor.”

With Jess and everyone else gone for the day, Lena briefly considered then decided against searching the office. No need to entertain the anxiety prickling at her skin, not when they’re borne of something as groundless as _bad dreams._

However, Lena did turn on all the lamps before returning to her work. Just to ensure that she wouldn’t fall asleep again.

//

Lena was halfway through her conference call with Yamamoto Industries when she remembered that it was the one month anniversary of Andrea’s death. The realization tugged at her chest, then at her stomach. Heavy nausea welled up inside of her, abated only by the sharp bite of fingernails biting into her own palm.

She closed her eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, and eventually closed the deal at a much better price-point than she had originally planned for.

Some of the executives threw a small, spontaneous celebration in recognition of all their hard work and the hard-earned overtime the past couple of weeks. Lena stayed for one tiny plastic cup of champagne before citing the usual excuses and taking her leave.

It didn’t occur to her that this was the first time she’d be leaving the office long before ten until Jess made a small passing comment.

//

By the time Lena got to her apartment, she was practically dead on feet. Working under the constant pressure of ringing in her ears, on top of what felt like anxiety—of _all_ things to feel!—was most definitely taking its toll.

She slunk right into bed, pausing only to dry-swallow her medication and a couple of sleeping pills for good measure. The combination never really made for restful slumber, but Lena was perfectly content just settling for something deep and uninterrupted.

After checking for any last-minute emails, Lena set her phone on the charger and the white noise machine on high. The gentle pitter patter of rain gradually filled out the room, an instant balm to her ears.

Lena settled down in bed, tossing and turning only to settle again. She had read somewhere that it shouldn’t be forced, that it was better to get up and engage in some light activity when sleep wasn’t immediately forthcoming. She had also read somewhere else that it was important to lie still and give sleeping pills a chance to take effect.

After some cursory hems and haws, Lena arrived somewhere perfunctorily in the middle—keeping quiet and still, but granting her mind the leeway to pay attention to the rain. Marking the pattern. Noting the periodic lulls in the sound. Knowing, and taking comforting in knowing, that everything had its place, its own perceptible routine to be traced and tracked.

Eventually, Lena felt her breath slow, her limbs starting to float away from her, everything shutting down from the inside out. But even as the last shred of her consciousness was dissipating, somewhere, some part of her knew that the ringing in her ears was only increasing in pitch and volume and intensity.

Lena could definitely just sleep through it though. She _should_ just sleep through it, in fact.

But when the tiny hairs on the back of her neck bristled, the haptic unease that came along with it was simply inevitable. With a soft huff, Lena rubbed at her eyes, in awe of just how hard the universe was working against her, to keep her from getting a good night’s rest for once in her life.

Then she heard it, clear as a bell despite the piercing whine in her ears.

 _“There_ you are.”

The ragged gasp that left Lena’s mouth was dry and painful.

She was up now, with her body trembling all over, the shudder of her heart keyed up to worrisome heights. She switched the lamp on and drew the sheets around her shoulders, as if to protect herself from… _well._

Her heart still naught but a nervous murmur, chest thumping against her unsteady hand in a manic rhythm, Lena shot a wild look around her room. Studied every corner. Squinted out the window. Stared, even, into the shadows until the gnawing sensation in her stomach forced her to look away.

“Fuck,” Lena wheezed out. She rubbed at her chest, demanding her heart to stop working overtime like a damned fool. The pitch in her ears was unbearable.

Lena slowly gathered herself, hugging her knees to her chest, nails digging into bare skin just to stay awake. She glanced around the room one last time. Then, for some godforsaken, utterly laughable reason, Lena cleared her parched throat and called out softly into the darkness.

“Andrea…?”

There’s no answer.

But something kept Lena up for the rest of that wretched night. The ringing. The persistent anxiety that slithered up her spine, prickling at the back of her neck. Her heart that eventually slowed, despite pounding heavily in her chest, loud enough to wake the proverbial dead.

Maybe the fact that she’d just called out to someone who had been buried for four weeks already. Or maybe the fact that she had somehow expected a response all the same.

//

A warm hand pressed down on Lena’s shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin as she awoke.

“Whoa, _whoa,_ it’s just me!”

Lena clutched at her chest, groaning, already shrugging Kara’s hand off her shoulder. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, but her voice was raspy, the swallowed gasp weighing heavy in her tone.

“I just…” Kara stumbled backwards, the rustle of her cape harsh and annoying. “It’s the middle of the day, and you were asleep in your office. Just wanted to make sure you were okay, I guess.”

“I was taking a nap,” Lena said, stifling the urge to fuss with her hair and disappointed in herself for even considering it. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so I’m just trying to make up for it in between meetings.”

“Oh. That makes sense,” Kara said. Her nod was awkward and highly unbefitting of Supergirl, which only made everything worse. “So, uh… work kept you up? Or…?”

“Again, _why_ are you here?” Lena asked, her sigh exasperated.

Kara blinked. “I just _told_ you. To check in on you.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” Lena rubbed at her eyes with another sigh. The ringing in her ears was already stirring up a headache somewhere right behind her forehead. “Well, maybe next time before you decide to drop on by, unannounced and unwanted, you can consider the very real possibility that I’m just doing very normal things that can be expected of anyone without a superhuman constitution, hmm?”

Kara drew back, her jaw setting in a resolved clench. “My mistake. Won’t happen again.”

“Good,” Lena said, rising to her feet, forcing Kara to step back even farther. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”

“Okay then.” But Kara lingered in the doorway, one foot stepped out onto the balcony. “I also just wanted to say that… I’m sorry for your loss. I know you two were really close. I can’t even imagine…”

“Andrea died weeks ago,” Lena said simply, as she took her seat.

She parsed through random files on her desk until she heard that tell-tale burst of air and fluttering fabric, upon which she threw the papers back down in a huff and rang for more coffee.

//

It was late afternoon when the words on screen started to lose meaning, despite the painstaking care with which Lena was typing them out. The letters grew fuzzy, flickering, then the mousepad stopped responding altogether. All of which naturally called for yet another dose of caffeine.

Lena tapped at the well-worn button on her desk phone, calling up the front desk. “Jess, could I get some more coffee? And _don’t_ give me decaf this time.”

The only response to sound from the speakers was an extended screech, so sharp and jarring that Lena was forced to clap her hands over her ears.

“What the _fuck?”_ she gasped, her ears now ringing at full force.

Lena slammed her hand down on the phone, cutting off the connection, alarmed and already furious for it. She marched to the door, fully prepared to trade in her anger for some rational explanation about possible technical difficulties.

But Jess was nowhere to be found.

In fact, the entire floor appeared to be empty.

This wouldn’t be the first time for Lena to be the last person to leave the office by any means. But it couldn’t have been _that_ late already, could it? And Jess always made sure to let her know before heading home, no matter what the hour. 

Then with a distant hum, the elevator came alive. Lena snapped her attention to the panel above its doors, watched the ever shifting red numbers counting down and marking its descent, only to pause at the ground floor, only to make its way right back up.

It was going to stop on her floor, and she knew it. And she could do nothing but watch in a guarded silence.

When the elevator doors finally slid open, Lena caught but a brief glance, and it’s enough to send her stomach plummeting. She scrambled backwards. The sound that tumbled from her lips was supposed to be a shout, but it warbled and stuttered, stoppered away somewhere in the back of her throat.

She grappled with the door. Yanked at the handle in a desperate bid to slam it shut. But it wouldn’t move. The door, apparently and all of a sudden, was too fucking heavy to be moved.

Panic rising, breath coming up short and insufficient, Lena kept pounding her fists against the wood. Again and again. As hard as she possibly could. It wouldn't budge. And over her emphatic efforts and the shrill tone in her ears, Lena could somehow make out that very distinct clack of heels readily approaching, steadily advancing.

As one last ditch effort, Lena put her whole bodyweight into it, smashing into the door shoulder-first, and spilled right out of her chair, gasping and startled awake.

Lena wheezed. Sprawled across the floor, head smarting where it had smacked into the desk on her way down, she just worked to catch her goddamn breath.

But it wasn’t very long before she realized that there was no time. No room to process the inherent embarrassment of being a grown woman suffering from so-called bad dreams. Because she was awake now. Aware of herself and her surroundings. Of the exhaustion hanging heavy in her limbs and bones just to remind her of all the sleep she wasn’t having lately.

And yet, she could still hear the clacks approaching her door.

Lena crawled underneath her desk. She peeked out and noted that the door to her office was halfway open, coincidentally right around the point where it had gotten stuck in her dream. The gap was barely a few inches wide, but it’s enough. In the deepest, darkest pit of her stomach, Lena somehow knew that it would be more than enough. Comfortably so, even.

She couldn’t be asleep though; Lena was sure of it.

But what other explanation was there for the door creaking all the way open? For the smell of smoke and death to roll into the office as if it belonged? For the high heels to _clack, clack_ across the floor, all the way to Lena’s desk where she could finally get a good look at them?

The Louboutins were scuffed up, the right one smudged with grey ash and grime, but no worse for the wear. Obviously.

The wearer of the heels, in fact, seemed to be worse off—much, _much_ worse judging from the exposed bone running up the side of one leg, the burns curling around the wound all dark and ugly. The skirt was readily recognizable, as tattered as it was.

But, of course, she never would have gotten the chance to change.

It’s pointless, but Lena tried anyway. She closed her eyes and pinched the inside of her arm as hard as she could, and it’s _excruciating._

“Well, long time, no see, darling,” came the soft drawl, floating down in a familiar lilt and lull, and the ringing in Lena’s ears reached a fever pitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're all pretending that Lena has a normal shaped desk, all right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (Early, still) Halloween, y'all~

Andrea lounged about in the chair, right on the other side of Lena’s desk, like she had done so many times before she died. Slouched forward slightly, a smirk lingering on what’s left of her lips.

It was a rather shocking sight.

Half of Andrea’s face was gone. She had been the one to open the package, after all, and the bomb had taken a good chunk of her skin, muscle, and the entirety of her right eye.

The funeral had been closed casket, and though Lena had her suspicions, now she had no choice but to know _exactly_ why.

Guilt inevitably stirred in Lena’s stomach much more efficiently than the nausea. And yet, she silently thanked whichever deity it was, out there, responsible for arranging such a meeting. Because—at the very fucking least—Andrea somehow wasn’t appearing to her four weeks decomposed.

Andrea tilted her head to one side. “You know what they say about pictures and how long they last, right?”

“You’re dead,” Lena said.

“Mmhm.”

Lena was awake. She was aware and alive and _awake._ She was certain of it. There were tiny bruises littering the inside of her left arm proving so. But nothing seemed to be making any sense.

“So, how are you here right now?”

“That’s a boring question,” Andrea reasoned. “I was always here.”

“Okay, fine,” Lena said with a scoff, and her shoulders even unwound some. This part—bantering with Andrea over inconsequential pedantry—was familiar enough. _“Why_ are you here then?”

Andrea hummed, that same way she always did— _had_ done—upon discovering the most irritating way to answer any given question. “I think it’d be more fun if you were to figure it out for yourself.”

Lena scowled, but pressed no further. It was ridiculous, maybe, to be arguing with such a late friend. She reached for her drink with steadied fingers and Andrea was gone when she looked back up.

The ringing in Lena’s ears eventually died back down. But the gnawing in her stomach persisted. The sharp stench of smoke and ash in the air persisted.

When Lena finally went home for the night, she wrapped herself in light bedding and watched her digital clock. She might have fallen asleep; she might have not. Every time the red numbers started to swim, somehow likening itself to the elevator panel from her dream, Lena snapped her head back up, digging her nails deeper into her knee.

By the time the sun rose, her skin was pitter-patterned all over with reddened crescents.

//

As soon as it was appropriate, Lena strode into her building on autopilot, eyes blinking and bleary as she stifled yawn after miserable yawn.

“There’s no one in your office.”

Lena glanced up at Jess, heart suddenly in her ever tightening throat. “What?”

“You keep looking over, but there’s no one waiting for you in there,” Jess said. “Were you… expecting someone?”

Fighting every instinctive bone in her body telling her to direct her attention to the door— _back_ to door, incidentally, which she hadn’t even noticed she’d been doing, Lena just shook her head. “Not at all.”

Lena kept her gaze forward as Jess recited the rest of her agenda without interruptions. She sipped at her coffee. She didn’t let her mind wander. She didn’t let her eyes wander. And she didn’t hesitate as she finally stepped into a blessedly empty office.

//

It was impossible to tell whether it was the abrupt jolt of her face hitting the desk that woke her up, or the resulting _smack!_ that bounced all around the room, but Lena was awake. She rubbed at her cheek and grimaced as the high-pitched hum in her ears resurfaced, breaking into her awareness.

Andrea was sitting on the couch, legs primly crossed at the ankles, face thankfully half-hidden in the darkness. She appeared lost in thought, seemingly just moments away from leaping to her feet with some exciting new tech proposal. The stench of smoke had already spread all throughout the office.

Lena allowed herself one sharp inhale before gathering herself back up again. “You’re not here,” she croaked.

Andrea lifted her head, as if startled. “Hm?”

“You heard what I said.”

“Is that so?” Andrea asked in a leisurely drawl, but Lena ignored her. “So, you’re saying that you _didn’t_ miss me then?”

“I’m still asleep,” Lena insisted under her breath. 

With a pleasant hum and understanding nod, Andrea smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt. Her right hand was missing two fingers and half of a third. “Well, whatever makes you feel better, darling.”

Lena grabbed her silver letter opener and held it up in the air, the shiny metal glinting even in the pale light of her desk lamp. “What would happen if I were to stick this in my leg?”

“You’d disfigure one of my favorite parts of you, for one.”

“Will it _hurt?”_ Lena pressed on. “Or will I just wake up?”

Andrea exhaled something that could only be described as a guffaw of disbelief. “Lena.”

“Is it going to _hurt?”_ Lena demanded, and Andrea clucked her tongue, leaning back against the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“Well, do you _want_ it to hurt?”

Lena redoubled her grip on the letter opener, swung her arm high, and Andrea wasn’t there anymore. Straightaway, Lena could hear herself think again, could hear her ragged breath over the dimming pitch in her ears. She lowered the blade slowly, but couldn’t bring herself to let go.

She stared at the sharpened edge for a while, then at the sharpened point. With great care and abundant focus, she pressed the very tip of the blade to her index finger. It stung and bled, a bright red welling up to the surface in a gratifying rush.

She was awake, she was awake, she was _awake._

//

No one else could see her.

It’s broad daylight when Lena found that out—mid-meeting, just as she was offering commentary on her engineers’ latest project proposal. Out of nowhere, the irritating pitch in her ears had sharpened and Lena stopped cold, her words faltering as she noticed Andrea studying her alcohol cart.

At the sudden lull in conversation, Andrea turned around and flashed a bright smile. The harsh light of day gleamed in the mottled purple and reds that made up half her face.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” she said. “I’m just here to judge your stock.” Andrea then gestured at one bottle in particular. “Because, _really?_ You’re not even going to spring for the ’29? Honestly, Lena, with _all_ the money in the—”

“Is everything all right, Miss Luthor?” Dr. Reyes sounded concerned. He also cut Andrea off like he didn’t hear her.

In fact, none of the research team had turned around or even acknowledged the abrupt interjection in any way. They couldn’t hear her. And when Andrea strolled over—heels clacking with every step—just to stare out the window, barely an arm’s reach from Lena’s desk, Lena realized that they couldn’t see her either.

“… Miss Luthor?”

A hesitantly waved hand in front of her face was enough to break Lena out of her reverie. She snapped back, shook her head. “Sorry. Must have zoned out for a bit there. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”

“Oh, _great_ cover, babe,” Andrea said with a snicker, and Lena had to systematically snuff out each and every retort that bubbled up in response. 

“You know what?” Lena said, forcing exhaled laughter. “Maybe this is a bad time. Could we just do the rest over email?”

The engineers agreed and quickly gathered their research materials, each offering a nod or a wave as they filed out. But Dr. Reyes lingered behind, his smile apologetic as he leaned in.

“We completely understand, of course, Miss Luthor. What with your loss…” He sighed and shook his head solemnly. “Miss Rojas was truly an extraordinary woman. Her passing is a genuine tragedy for us all.”

Andrea scoffed. “I have _never_ met this man once in my entire life.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Lena said.

“What? Don’t _thank_ him. He’s just kissing your—”

Lena swiftly pressed her palm against one ear, which sharpened the ringing, muffled Andrea’s voice, and seemed to startle her engineer. “And I very much look forward to hearing more about the collider soon.”

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Dr. Reyes, Lena snapped her head around. “What the _fuck_ is your problem?” she demanded of the empty air, realizing only then that the ringing had already long since been dulled to a faint whine.

//

“You need to change out my fucking medication,” Lena barked into the phone the moment it stopped ringing. “They’re making me _hallucinate!”_ There was a long pause, serving only to dash what little was left of Lena’s patience. _“… Hello?”_

“… Dr. Patel’s office,” eventually said a soft, timid voice. “This is Michael. How can I help you?”

Lena pinched the bridge of her nose, took a deep breath, and let out an even deeper sigh. “Hello. Michael. This is Lena Luthor, and I just _really_ need to—”

“Yup, yup, transferring now!” Michael said hastily. 

A series of beeps and a bout of ringing later, Lena had composed herself enough to be able to explain her predicament at a much more appropriate volume.

“Are you sure?” Dr. Patel asked, healthy skepticism attached to her otherwise polite tone. “That isn’t one of the side effects.”

Lena bristled. “Are you suggesting that I’m _lying_ or _wrong_ about my own experience?”

“No, of course not, Miss Luthor,” the doctor said, her voice gentle, placating. “What kind of hallucinations are we talking about here?”

“The kind that aren’t real?” Lena said, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, but… auditory? Visual?”

“Both! _And—”_ But Lena’s indignation was swiftly undercut by the sinking reality of it all—just how wrong this whole situation was.

Because not only could Lena see _and_ hear her, she could _smell_ Andrea. She could smell the ash and the smoke, the spent accelerant hanging heavy in the air, the acrid stench of freshly burned flesh. And if Lena were to reach out, to try and take Andrea’s broken hand in hers, who’s to say that she wouldn’t be able to _feel_ Andrea as well?

There was—frankly—not a single set of circumstances in which something wasn’t terribly wrong with Lena.

“And…?” Dr. Patel prompted after an extended pause.

Lena cleared her throat. “I… haven’t been getting much sleep lately,” she said slowly. “Could that be why I’m… _seeing_ things?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s _possible,_ but—”

“So, I’ll try to get more sleep then, and it should be fine.”

Dr. Patel took a deep, audible breath. “Very well, Miss Luthor, but if these hallucinations of yours _persist_ at all…”

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Lena said, promptly hanging up the phone.

//

“You’re not here, I’ve decided,” Lena announced as she walked in on Andrea leaning against her desk, her one eye squinting at the morning sun. “You’re just a hallucination. A simple product of grief, lack of sleep, and an overactive imagination.”

“An _overactive imagination,_ huh?”Andrea echoed with a slight chuckle. “Since when has _that_ ever been something you’ve been burdened with?”

“Since forever,” Lena protested. “What with, general anxieties informed by _multiple_ assassination attempts—”

“Case in point,” Andrea said, gesturing at herself, which Lena swiftly passed over.

“—and, and a keen ability to predict terrible things and potential jeopardy and such. It makes sense.”

“Hmm, can’t say I agree,” Andrea said.

Lena set her jaw, defiant and firm, and pointedly stepped through Andrea’s form to get to her seat. She was promptly yet briefly overwhelmed with a sudden rush of heat, smoke, and a near deafening pitch as she did so, but it was done and she was now sitting at her desk like business as usual.

“I’ve already stopped taking the pills,” Lena said, brusque as she started to unpack her bag. “So, you might as well just tell me whatever you need to say _now,_ while you still have the chance.”

“Miss Luthor?”

Lena glanced over at the door, where Jess was regarding her with the most bewildered expression. Andrea was nowhere to be seen.

“Who are you talking to?” Jess asked, gaze flitting around the room.

“No one,” Lena said simply. “I was just going over some talking points for today’s meeting.”

“Okay…” Jess said, nodding, but didn’t sound even remotely convinced.

Lena’s lips pursed in a slight frown. “Did you need something?”

“Oh! Yes. Some signatures…”

Lena signed the papers, berating herself whenever she noticed her gaze drifting back toward the couch—as if daring Andrea to be there, just lounging about and bored. It couldn’t have been more than twice that Lena checked in that direction, but it was still enough that Jess spared a surreptitious glance at the couch on her way out.

//

At Lena’s rather vehement request, Jess had a temporary workstation set up for her in the conference room by morning. It just made sense to avoid any potential stressors— _triggers,_ really—until this rather eccentric situation of hers was satisfactorily resolved.

The one time Lena went to retrieve something from her office, her feet stopped cold right outside the door, the harsh ringing in her ears acutely increasing in pitch. So, she turned on her heel, marched straight back to her new workspace, and had Jess pick up the files and anything else she might need.

When she didn’t encounter Andrea for three whole days in a row, Lena felt validated in her new routine. She was sleeping somewhat more, drinking slightly less, eating at least two meals a day, which were all things she should have been doing anyway. And though it was rather cumbersome to be avoiding her own office at whatever cost, it seemed to be working. Even the tinnitus seemed to have quieted down some since.

What Lena hadn’t anticipated, however, was the lingering disappointment that would curdle in her stomach, heavy and as devastating as it was inappropriate. But she had to move on.

How was she to mourn someone who wouldn’t leave her alone?

//

Lena was walking out of the coffeeshop, lips silently moving along to her language podcast, with her drink in one hand and her phone in the other, when it happened again.

An earsplitting shriek blaring from her earphones, breaking through the din of Italian pleasantries with that now familiar sound.

Lena dropped both her phone and coffee in her clamor to rip the earphones off. But by then, it was too late. The mild ringing in her ears had ratcheted back up again, higher than ever, sharp enough to burrow into her right temple in a keen ache.

The coffee was unsalvageable and Lena’s phone had bounced a couple of feet away from her, screen facing up and somehow still intact, directly in the path of an inattentive pedestrian.

“Wait—” Lena lunged forward, but the man never looked up from his own phone nor slowed his pace.

He stepped right on top of the phone, and kept on going, and not only did nothing happen—no crack or crunch or even any damage to speak of—but the man walked right into and through Lena, sending the shrill whine in her ears to an agonizing pitch.

Lena slapped her hands over her ears, which of course did nothing, because the sound of course was all in her head. She whirled around. The man was long gone, the only vestige of the encounter culminating in a massive throbbing headache.

She didn’t bother to look where she was going. Just kept walking and walking in the opposite direction. Just listened to her own heavy breath, tumbling from her lips in time with her racing heart.

Panic struck when something solid grabbed hold of her elbow, tugging her around. Because that wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be touched by intangible hallucinations, and she most _definitely_ wasn’t supposed to run into anything remotely resembling a brick wall in terms of density. 

The moment her vision cleared, Lena’s acute dread promptly gave way to fury. “You!” she hissed, yanking her elbow out of Kara’s grip. _“What do you think you’re doing?”_

“Hey, are you okay?” Kara asked, her voice soft, immersed in warmth. “It kinda looked like you were running away from something…”

Lena rolled her eyes. “I’m _fine!”_

“Are you sure?” Kara pushed at her glasses, glanced all around them before directing her worried gaze back at Lena. “I only ask ‘cause… well, you look like you—”

 _“What!”_ Lena growled. “Seen a _ghost?”_ She slapped at Kara’s chest for good measure, and though it hurt her hand, the anger expressed was plenty satisfying in its own right. But Kara’s brow only creased further, growing heavier with concern.

“Like you need some help…”

Lena gave Kara a withering stare, let out a pronounced scoff straight from her still shuddering chest. “How very noble of you to reach out, _Kara,”_ she said with a sneer. “But I’m doing just fine, thank you very much.” But as she turned to take her leave, Kara took a quick step in her direction, one hand extended though thankfully far from making actual contact with Lena. _“… What?”_

“You dropped this…” Kara said softly. In her outstretched palm sat Lena’s phone, abandoned blocks ago for disrupting various laws of physics, reason, and the like.

With a barely stifled grimace, Lena snatched the phone, shoving it in her purse as she left Kara far, _far_ behind without another word.

//

The uptick in ringing persisted throughout the day.

Lena’s first instinct was to rifle through her purse for the pill bottle, only to remember with a bout of colorful swearing that she had already long since flushed the contents of said bottle.

So, instead, she just raised the volume on her white noise machine, poured herself an extra helping of scotch, and spent the rest of her night convincing herself that she’d earned it.

//

It was just a press conference.

Over the course of her rather extended career, Lena had given hundreds of them already, if not _thousands._ But the simple fact that _this_ press conference would be Lena’s first since witnessing death of a dear friend—in a violent explosion, no less—escaped no one’s notice. Least of all, her personal assistant who was still anxiously hovering just off stage.

But Lena wasn’t worried. After all, it was _just_ a press conference, intentionally run-of-the-mill and even a little boring. This was her job, which she was especially suited for, and everything was going just fine.

Well, until it wasn’t.

Until Lena was in the middle of answering some preliminary questions and sudden feedback from the mic had her stumbling back from the podium.

The harsh squeal filled her head, throbbed in her temples in an increasingly agonizing whine, and Lena just barely managed to keep herself from stuffing her fingers in her ears.

But that was fine. This was doable. Lena could definitely grit her teeth through the pain, through the piercing ring, through this entire goddamn presentation if she had to. All she needed to do was acknowledge the technical difficulties with a smile and a light-hearted joke, then get back to fielding everyone’s questions.

Except the audience didn’t seem to understand her predicament. Most appeared confused, some taken aback—they were all _staring._ And Lena, rubbing insistently at the back of her dampened neck, was forced to contend with the fact that maybe the feedback didn't happen.

That maybe _this_ sound—just like all the other ones that have been plaguing her of late—could have just been in her head.

“—thor, hello? Miss _Luthor,”_ Jess’s voice filtered in, hushed, by Lena’s elbow. “Is everything all right?”

Lena forced herself to blink, convinced herself to drop her hands by her sides and stand up straighter. She cleared her throat. “I’m fine,” she said, sparing a quick smile for her assistant before turning back to the conference hall, which was now suddenly and inexplicably _flooded_ with people.

Lena froze at the sight.

Somehow, in that brief moment where she had her gaze elsewhere, the audience had nearly doubled in size before her, filling her vision with a sea of anonymous faces.

There were people _everywhere._

They were all just milling about among the press. Watching her curiously. Talking amongst themselves. Walking through each other, unhurried and nonchalant, like it was all perfectly normal.

“This… isn’t happening,” Lena said, her words coming out breathless, though barely audible over all the ringing. “This isn’t real, and it’s _not_ happening!”

“Okay, we gotta get her off stage,” an unfamiliar voice muttered somewhere behind her, then a firm hand was tugging her away from the microphone.

Lena resisted at first, determined to make her point as absurd as it may end up sounding in retrospect, but the next thing she knew, Jess was urging her to take slow sips of water in the back of her town car.

“What _happened_ in there, Miss Luthor?” Jess asked, once Lena had consumed almost more water than she had in the past two days combined. “Was it too much too soon? I know you’ve been struggling…”

“It was just… too many people,” Lena tried to explain, her frustration peaking when Jess promptly started to nod like she understood. “No, look, I don’t just mean that it was a big—”

“It’s okay, Miss Luthor. We can have smaller crowds next time.”

“No, you’re _not_ getting it.”

But Jess had her phone out, already typing new instructions into her notes. “Smaller conference space. Limit the number of reporters. Less cameras, less everything. It’s all doable. Don’t even worry, Miss—”

 _“Jess!”_ Lena snapped, and her assistant jerked to a complete stop, eyes wide. “I saw people who weren’t there, okay? I’ve been seeing things, _hearing_ things, that _aren’t…_ there!”

Jess slowly lowered her phone, face settling into an expression that immediately ripped Lena’s patience to veritable shreds. “… Miss Luthor, I think—”

“Don’t,” Lena said, turning to face the window with a huff.

“I _think_ you should see someone about this.”

Lena kept quiet for the rest of the car ride, and for the first time since this whole thing began, she was even thankful for the constant whine in her ears—the only company that she could stomach keeping for the time being.

//

Once they were safely back at L-Corp, Lena paused outside her makeshift office, then bypassed it in favor of her actual one. She burst through the door, strode into the darkness, and was straightaway furious.

“I _know_ you’re in here,” Lena growled, her voice loud enough to ring out in the empty room. “Just come out and let me see you. Because _you_ don’t get to do this! _You_ don’t get to make me feel like I’m going out of my _fucking_ mind—”

“Lena, _no!”_

Abruptly vindicated, Lena whirled around with a wild, triumphant shout, only to come face-to-face with her harried assistant tearing into the room.

“I’m so sorry!” Jess continued, quickly tugging the door shut behind her. “I didn’t mean to be so…” She shook her head frantically. “But, _god!,_ you can’t be doing this right now, Miss Luthor. Other people can _hear you!”_

“I’m _not_ crazy,” Lena said flatly.

Jess sighed, rubbing at her forehead. “I never said you were, Miss Luthor. But look at everything you’ve been through lately, just in these last few weeks alone… It’s enough to make anyone…” She just continued to stare at Lena meaningfully.

Lena dropped her gaze, started fussing with her blouse as she spoke, “You can go now.”

“I’m… sorry?”

“You can leave for the day,” Lena said as she calmly walked toward the door, yanking it wide open. “I don’t need you.”

“I honestly don’t think you should be alone right now,” Jess said.

Lena shrugged. “I’m not.”

She avoided Jess’s searching eyes, waited until the assistant finally gave in with a helpless sigh.

“Just stay off social media, Miss Luthor,” Jess said, pausing right outside the doorway. “And maybe don’t drink either.”

Lena let the door swing shut, not looking up and over once.

//

With a tumbler of Andrea’s favorite whiskey in hand, Lena spent the night watching the rise and fall of public opinion play out on Twitter.

First came the relatively objective recounting of events—for the most part, straightforward and factual. Then came the unfavorable memes that made light of Lena’s so-called “nervous breakdown,” with gifs of her frantic ramblings applied to all sorts of scenarios of varying degrees of relatability. And then came the outpouring of support, likening the CEO to just another person who needed a helping hand, or something to that effect.

It was around nine when she received a text message from Kara that read, _I’m really worried about you,_ which was promptly deleted.

Lena was disappointed when no one else bothered to check in on her or even pay her a visit. Then she was even more disappointed in herself for wanting such a thing in the first place. 

//

After enduring one of her longest days in recent memory, Lena felt nothing but exhaustion when the ringing started to worsen just as she arrived at her apartment. She dug a knuckle into her right temple with one hand, using the other to jiggle her key in the lock, which apparently decided that _now_ would be the most convenient time to be uncooperative.

Once she finally got the door open, Lena stumbled her way inside, already in a hurry to get to her white noise machine. But barely two steps into the apartment, the harsh whine in her ears swiftly became the furthest thing from her mind.

Lena’s feet faltered, then stopped altogether, utterly rooted to the floor. Her heart was expanding, growing tight in her crushed chest.

“How was work?” Andrea called out from the kitchen counter, smiling, as pleasant as ever. But all Lena could do was stare, lips parting in a shuddering gasp when Andrea flashed her a wink—her right eye, perfect and just as lovely as Lena could remember. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teehee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (Actual) Halloween, y'all~

“Your face…”

Lena couldn’t bring herself to say the rest of it. Refused to even try because, perhaps, there were some things in life that should never be put into words.

But Andrea’s laugh was gracious and kind, so readily understanding. She tipped her head back ever so slightly to accommodate the precious sound, revealing a long column of immaculate, unmarred skin from chin to collarbones.

It brought an immediate pang to Lena’s thumping chest, the sight so reminiscent of better days—ones far removed from death and loss, and painful rifts between former best friends.

Lena shut the door behind her slowly, as gently as possible, unwilling to do anything that might risk this version of Andrea disappearing on her.

“You’re here,” she finally said, eyes roaming carefully all over Andrea’s perfect features. “And you don’t even _look_ …” Lena trailed off again. Just one more thing she wouldn’t be able to voice out loud tonight.

“No, I guess not,” Andrea said with an easy smile.

All Lena could do was shake her head in wonder, and who the fuck even cared if this was just a hallucination? How could she _possibly_ bring herself to care when Andrea was sitting in her kitchen like this? Smiling so pretty, hair smelling of ocean breeze and vanilla warmed over.

“You’re wearing my clothes,” Lena said in quiet realization once she got a bit closer.

Andrea glanced down at herself, plucked at the maroon lettering on her chest with a shrug. “Yeah. Didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I never did,” Lena said, unable to tear her eyes away from the MIT logo.

And it was _definitely_ her sweatshirt; it had to be. Not just because Andrea had gone to Caltech then Yale for her studies, but because, well… this wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar sight for Lena.

Andrea used to steal her clothes _all_ the time, and this hoodie in particular was one of her favorites. But still, it didn’t seem to bear any of the wear and tear that naturally came with years of ownership. In fact, the sweatshirt looked practically brand new.

And it was only then that Lena started to notice the finer details. How the few creases in Andrea’s forehead had been smoothed over. How prominent the slight acne along her hairline was without any makeup. And that watch on her wrist—a distinct flash of pink, so hideous and garish that the CEO of Obsidian Tech could have never been caught wearing such a thing.

But Andrea had, once upon a simpler time. When she had been swimming regularly despite having given up diving after high school, and Lena had gifted her the timepiece because it was waterproof, obnoxious, and—at the time—just the absolute _funniest_ thing in the entire world.

Lena uncorked a new bottle of wine, casually poured herself a glass as she asked, “So, how old are you supposed to be?”

Andrea shrugged, her smile almost apologetic. “Old enough to join you for a drink, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“But… _why?”_ Lena had to ask.

“Mm. Well, does it matter?”

 _Yes,_ thought Lena as her gaze fell across Andrea’s arm, draped so carelessly over the back of her chair. She longed to reach out, just to see if she could squeeze Andrea’s fingers—all five of them pristine and perfect, completely unaware of the fate that awaited them in a few short years. But the disappointment that was sure to be inevitable would be utterly devastating. “I guess not.”

“You look _exhausted,_ babe,” Andrea said, her tone teasing yet so gentle.

Lena laughed, but it came out sounding more like a dry sob. She felt the spike of heat behind her eyes, in her nose, lingering in her mouth. Everything felt entirely unfair. “I am. I’m just _so,_ so tired, Andrea…”

“Well, come on then,” Andrea said, hopping off her seat. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Feet shuffling and reluctant, Lena led the way to the bedroom, vaguely noting how the ringing in her ears was already winding down to a manageable hum. By the time she was collapsing onto her bed, she was on her own again.

Lena sank beneath her sheets and found herself whispering near inaudible prayers under her breath, begging anyone out there who would listen for dreams—ones worth remembering. But when the early morning sun fell across her face, gently easing her out of fitful slumber, Lena ended up leaving her bed, still alone, with nothing meaningful to hold onto.

//

For the first time in nearly ten years, Lena called in sick to work, which everyone seemed to understand. But for the first time in nearly _fifteen_ years, Lena then proceeded to stay home and _not_ do any work, which she could hardly believe herself even as she did it.

But she wanted to see Andrea.

Lena could have sworn that she _did_ see her a few times in the late afternoon. A flash of dark hair from the corner of her eye. The light grey of her hoodie, gone long before she could even blink.

But it wasn’t until Lena was stirring awake from the second or third time she’d nodded off on the couch that the familiar hint of vanilla hit her nose. She crawled upright, and saw Andrea in what only appeared to be flesh.

She was inspecting Lena’s white noise machine with a rather critical eye, humming along to some song that Lena could almost place. Her hood was pulled over her head and taut, her fingers tugging at the drawstrings absentmindedly. Endearingly. Not unlike the way she had done during all those late night skype calls, when they were supposed to be studying for their respective exams.

“Does this even help?” Andrea asked, eventually shooting a puzzled frown over her shoulder when Lena wouldn’t even dare breathe in response. “Hello? Earth to Luthor…?”

“What,” Lena said in a croak, and Andrea just exhaled the softest laughter.

“Wow…” she said, her head a-shaking in amusement as she ambled on over to the couch. “So, what’s going on in that oversized brain of yours that you can’t even entertain your best friend, hmm?”

Lena scooted over, tucking her legs underneath to give Andrea ample room to sit beside her. But just as soon as Andrea was falling back onto the couch, she was nowhere to be seen.

With a strangled gasp, Lena scrambled across the couch, one hand flying forward to land on the very cushion where she could have _sworn_ Andrea was sitting not even half a moment ago.

Was it warm to the touch?

It felt warm. _Almost_.

It also felt like her mind could have been playing tricks on her. But then again, everything about this whole ordeal felt like it could have been borne of her mind playing tricks on her. 

But it _felt_ warm to Lena. Like it actually could have been warm, or close enough that she could somewhat adequately convince herself of it.

Lena took off work for the rest of the week.

//

The following day, Lena noticed Andrea twice—both times, walking just a few steps behind Lena down the length of one hallway before disappearing again.

The day after that, Andrea had curled up on the couch and napped half the afternoon away. Or at the very least, for about two and a half hours, which Lena had timed on her phone as she watched from afar, coffee steadily growing cold in her hands.

Then the day after _that,_ Lena emerged from her own nap on the couch to see Andrea seated at the kitchen counter. She was staring down intently at a newspaper article, torn through then abandoned a few days prior by Lena when it’d failed to provide any adequate answers. It had been published the day after the explosion and featured a moderately sized photo of Andrea’s face on the front page.

“D’you…” Lena had to cough, clear all traces of sleep from her throat before continuing, “Do you need me to turn the page?”

As Andrea visibly considered the offer, her nose wrinkled—a habit she would eventually train herself out of upon becoming a more prominent public figure. “Nah,” she finally said, shrugging. “I kinda feel like I already know how the rest of it’s gonna go.”

“You do?” Lena asked, and Andrea just nodded. “Do you know because of… intuition? Or because _I_ know?”

Andrea looked over, eyes narrowing in amusement. “What?” Then she snorted outright, and laughed and laughed. “Wait, do you think I’m like a figment of your imagination or something?”

“My _over_ -active imagination, yes, maybe,” Lena said. “Well, it’s possible.”

“An _overactive imagination,”_ Andrea said, smirking wholeheartedly. “And when has _that_ ever been something you’ve been burdened with?”

The retort gave Lena a slight pause. Andrea’s words had left her mouth smoothly enough, but her smile was triumphant, as if she were tasting her own phraseology for the first time.

“What are you then?” Lena asked. She watched, rapt, as Andrea finally came around to join her on the couch.

“Oh, I think you know,” Andrea said, propping her feet up on the coffee table with a contented sigh. “So, why don’t you tell me, darling?”

“You’re… an extension of my grief, of my _dreams,_ really,” Lena said slowly, pressing on even as Andrea shook her head in mock disappointment. “And I’m seeing you because… I’m struggling with the whole mourning process.”

“So, I’m the only one you’re seeing then.”

“Well….” Lena rubbed at the back of her neck with an indignant sigh, head already throbbing with another headache. “Okay, so the reason I could be seeing all those _other_ people is… to… I don’t know, _punish me?”_ She threw up her hands in a helpless gesture. “Force me to confront the reality of not just my own mortality, but the mortality of everyone else in the world as well?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, babe,” Andrea said, her smirk now a permanent fixture on her face. “That’s a _whole_ lot of assumptions to be in play there. Come on. Occam’s razor. What’s the _simplest_ explanation you can come up with?”

“… That I’m fucking crazy,” Lena whispered, because maybe if she just said it under her breath like that, it wouldn’t count.

 _“No,”_ Andrea said firmly, her eyes suddenly hardened and dangerous. She leaned close, reached out with a hand that fell halfway through Lena’s, simultaneously giving off warmth and driving the pitch in Lena’s ears skyward. “It’s not that. It’s _never_ that. And we can prove it. Together.”

Lena kept her hand engulfed in Andrea’s as long as she could stand it, waiting until the ringing overwhelmed all her senses before pulling away. “How?” she demanded, already grimacing at the aftermath of the contact. She quickly pushed her fist against her throbbing temple.

“It’s real easy,” Andrea said. “Just ask me something that only I’d know. Something that you would have no way of knowing, but can easily verify afterwards.”

“Fine,” Lena said with a half-hearted shrug. “Tell me about the next three Obsidian projects slated for production.”

Andrea tilted her head, lips pursing in disbelief. “Something that _I_ would know.”

“But why _wouldn’t_ you—” Lena started, but then she remembered. Noted the tell-tale signs of physical well-being and _youth_ in Andrea’s once again smirking features, and tried again, “Okay… Who gave you that watch?”

Andrea groaned. “You _suck_ at this game!” she said, laughing, and Lena was growling in frustration before she could stop herself.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to ask you then?”

Andrea’s smirk just deepened considerably. “My first grade teacher’s name was Mrs. Charpentier. She had two dogs and a cat, and was old enough to be my grandmother,” she said, ticking off fingers one by one. “My second grade teacher was Miss Johansson, and I’m pretty sure she was divorced. Or at least bitter enough to seem so.”

She rattled off a few more of her teachers’ names, the names of all her housekeepers since age five, her first three phone numbers, her social security number, and so on and so forth.

“I’m not sure if this will actually prove anything,” Lena complained, even as she scribbled down the zip code to the Rojas’s third summer home in Key West. “There’s always the slight chance that I could have somehow peripherally absorbed all this information at one point or another.”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” Andrea said with a deliberate pout. “I think, for once, you might be _over-_ estimating what your lil’ brain can do.”

“Oh, now it’s _little?”_ Lena said with a snort.

“It’s not always about the size, babe. You know that,” Andrea teased, and the accompanying wink sent Lena’s stomach into a frenzy of unfettered butterflies, which was quite frankly unfair to say the least.

“That’s… _pfft.”_ Lena just shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear with a calculated cough. “But before you go, could I just ask one more question?”

“For you, my dear, anything,” Andrea said, with a small chuckle, as good-natured as they come.

Lena shifted in her seat, turning her entire body toward Andrea to fix her with the most serious stare. “Tell me the truth,” she said, the CEO in her invoked with the simple command. “Did you… or did you not… have a thing for Veronica Sinclair?”

Andrea threw back her head with an exaggerated groan. “You’re the worst. _Bye!”_

And with that, Lena once again found herself all alone, with naught but a gradually weakening hum in her ears and a task to complete.

But that was okay. Because, as she had already reasoned time and time again, there were much worse things in life for a person to endure.

//

It took almost an entire day—hours of internet sleuthing, brief instances of some _light_ hacking, and quite a few phone calls with informed yet perplexed individuals—but Lena got it done. And with each factoid that she was able to confirm, the stronger the sneaking sense of conviction pulsed in her chest. It ended up being quite the tantalizing feeling to chase.

She was still valiantly picking at her Chinese takeout with a substantial stack of papers sitting in her lap, when Andrea waltzed into the room.

 _“I did it,”_ Lena exclaimed, practically slipping off her chair in her haste to share the findings. She spread her notes across the table, her neat hand uncharacteristically smudged and chaotic as it spelled out every single detail wrested from research. “And look, you even got almost everything right.”

 _“Almost_ everything?” Andrea said, frowning down at the papers. “Oh, I see. Miss J was _not_ divorced, but…” She then laughed a little. “I’m sorry, but what is that supposed to say?”

“She was _gay!”_ Lena blurted out, excited. “Well, I mean, she’s _still_ gay, but you know what I mean. She just couldn’t get married back then because of, well, _everything,_ and maybe she was always just a bitter person at heart or something. But no, not divorced! _Just_ gay!”

Andrea stared up at Lena, blinked a few times. “… All right, well, my gaydar wasn’t quite honed in until college, so sue me.”

“That’s besides the point. You couldn’t have known that, so it doesn’t count,” Lena said, flapping her hand dismissively. “The point is that there’s a slight possibility that _this—”_ she gestured wildly at Andrea from head to toe— “is actually happening.”

“A _slight_ possibility?” Andrea echoed, with a scoff. “Seriously, babe? What’s it gonna take for you to admit that it’s true? That you _actually_ believe it.”

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt? _Nothing,”_ Lena declared. “Not a _single_ thing. Because _ghosts?_ Aren’t real!” But instead of objecting any further like Lena’d been expecting, Andrea just flashed her a shit-eating grin. “I’m sorry. Is something funny to you?”

“Mm, _yeah…_ ‘Cause you said it.”

Lena was already shaking her head in protest. “No. _No,_ I was saying that I _don’t_ believe in—”

“It’s too late. You already said the word,” Andrea insisted, still grinning so delighted. “So, now that we’re finally here, what’s next?”

Lips pouted, Lena pointedly dropped all of her attention back to her sweet and sour chicken, spearing pieces of broccoli with renewed vigor. “I can’t hear you.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.”

“I am eating _and_ drinking,” Lena said, pouring herself some more wine without looking over, “in _silence.”_

After a drawn out sigh and an extended pause, disturbed only by the sound of Andrea’s perfectly manicured fingernails clicking against the marble counter, Andrea leaned in real close and casual. “So… did they ever catch him?”

Lena glanced at the newspaper article still set aside and crumpled underneath Andrea’s drumming fingers. “No.”

“Are you still ignoring me?”

Lena sipped at her wine and sighed, “Yes.”

“All right, fine,” Andrea eventually said, rolling her eyes. She slapped both her hands down on the counter, emphatic yet completely silent. “I fancied her, _yes,_ but not nearly as much as you did, so there.”

Jaw dropping slightly in affront, Lena snapped her head up to argue with someone who had already long since disappeared—one of Andrea’s more unfair exits as of yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's sleep?


End file.
